


Ritual (9): Like a Tiger

by mystery_sock (terebi_me)



Series: Ritual [9]
Category: Heroes (TV)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Backstory, Banter, Brother/Brother Incest, Closeted Character, Comedy, Dirty Talk, Forced Orgasm, Gay For You, Implied/Referenced Underage Sex, M/M, Mind Games, POV Alternating, Petrellicest, Ritual, Season/Series 01 Spoilers, Shameless Smut, Shower Sex, Sibling Bonding, Sibling Incest, Slash, Tenderness, True Love, Unsafe Sex, clean shaven
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-04
Updated: 2019-08-04
Packaged: 2020-07-31 10:36:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,142
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20113732
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/terebi_me/pseuds/mystery_sock
Summary: Peter and Nathan were supposedly enjoying a movie. Instead, they were enjoying each other.





	Ritual (9): Like a Tiger

**Author's Note:**

> [excerpted from original note] ....Fun, fluffy/snarky smut about a rare moment when the Petrelli brothers are in balance with each other.
> 
> [new note] Set several years before the eclipse; Peter is in college and Nathan is just settling into practicing law. If you follow along you will see that this story is the germination point for several other Ritual stories. Ritual is at least as much about memory as much as hot, graphic sex and hopeless-but-dedicated slash shipping. Sort of Proust meets Tom of Finland meets Flowers in the Attic... :)

_SEVEN YEARS BEFORE THE ECLIPSE..._  
  
Peter curled up on the couch with his political science textbook, supplemental readings packet, and mostly illegible handwritten notes, wishing that he had some lighter fluid and a match so that he could set it all on fire. When the house phone rang, he jumped for it and connected the line before it could ring a second time. "Petrelli residence," he answered.  
  
"Hey, you."  
  
"Nathan, thank _God._" Peter flung himself back onto the couch in exactly the way his mother said that he must never do, and blew out his breath in an aggravated sigh. "How do you deal with this shit, man?"  
  
"Deal with what?"  
  
"Poli-sci."  
  
"What are you talking about? Poli-sci's my favorite—Oh, I see. I told you not to take all your easy classes your first year. You gotta space it out; you'll never get to be a lawyer if all you're taking is theater and women's studies. Even if," Nathan added with a chuckle, "it does net you a lot of co-ed tail."  
  
"I don't wanna be a lawyer. I want to... go kayaking," Peter confessed, with a laugh at his own ridiculous, childish impulse. He sighed again, and went to a deeper confession. "I really just don't want to do this. Pre-law's _their_ decision. They're on my ass about it, too, especially Mom. They won't pay for it if I don't take the classes they want me to take. It's not like it's Yale, and it's not like they can't afford it. God, I want to move out."  
  
"You should," Nathan agreed. "It's well past time you had your own place, if you ask me. But if they're paying for your school, you should take the classes they want you to take, especially if you're still under their roof. But we can talk about that later; I'm kinda pressed for time. What are you doing tomorrow night before dinner? I know that Mom and Dad are having a thing, and I told them I'd make it. Wondering if you wanted to go see a movie."  
  
"Oh," said Peter, his voice lilting with happiness and wonder. How did Nathan always know? Even if Peter couldn't have the total and instantaneous escape that he wanted, he could spend time with his brother, and slip into a different world for a few hours. "Totally. Yeah, love to. Anything to get out of here for a bit. To see you a bit, too."  
  
Nathan paused for a long time, and when he spoke again, his voice was oddly thick and gravelly, and whispery-quiet, as though he was trying to avoid being overheard. Like what he was saying was suddenly private. "What do you wanna see?"  
  
Peter laughed faintly, a lazy, slow chuckle, and whispered, "You. I don't care what movie. Just want to see you..."  
  
Nathan didn't laugh in reply. "Cut it out, Pete. I thought you were over that. You talk like you never see me."  
  
"It's not enough," Peter said, his voice returning to its usual tone. Nathan was right; if Peter started murmuring into the phone, Mom would think Peter was talking to some girl, and _that_ would open a can of worms Peter didn't feel like dealing with. "We're never alone. I want to... you know, just have some bonding, just the two of us. Have fun; blow off a little steam." Peter broke off there, wondering if his terminology was dangerous, then decided that it would sound completely innocent to anybody who overheard. And Nathan's voice held a lot of ambiguity; annoyance battling desire. Peter sighed again, and added, "It's been a really rough couple of weeks since school started."  
  
He wanted to add, but didn't, _I'm never over "that," and you know it._  
  
Nathan sighed deeply. It was impossible for Peter to tell whether or not Nathan had picked up on what Peter hadn't said, so Peter crossed his fingers (and toes) and hoped. Nathan sighed, "Yeah. Okay. You're right. So... seen _The Sixth Sense_?"  
  
"Yeah, I saw it last week."  
  
"Oh," said Nathan. He sounded far more disappointed than he should have.  
  
Peter gulped, and thought fast. "Let's just... _go see it again,_" he said, leaning on the words. "Y'know... um... I'll come meet you _at your place_... and we'll catch the six-fifteen showing. We'll go have fun for two hours... and back here by nine, no problem. Right?"  
  
Nathan gave an impressed-sounding laugh. "I guess that'll work," he said. "Yeah, I get you, no problem. Sure you don't want to be a lawyer? Or maybe a covert op? CIA's hiring."  
  
Peter silently threw the devil-horn hand sign into the air with joy, but kept his voice dry and noncommittal, unconsciously imitating Nathan. "I was maybe hoping for 'phone psychic.'"  
  
Nathan sounded happy, too, in his usual tightly controlled way. "See you tomorrow, then. Oh, and, uh, I'll buy the popcorn. You don't know yet where to get the _good_ popcorn."  
  
"I'm sure you'll educate me," Peter replied, glad that he was alone in the room so that he wouldn't have to explain the grin on his face. "You have great taste."

* * *

  
For once, Peter showed up on time.  
  
He arrived at Nathan's doorstep in baggy jeans and even baggier T-shirt, but with a sharp, neat haircut, and his face so clean-shaven that he was shiny. "Did you go to Tony's Barbershop?" Nathan asked, his nostrils flaring as he picked up on the distinctive lemon-balm scent of Dad's favorite barber's shaving foam. "Wow, you wouldn't go there on your own, would you? It must be a big deal tonight."  
  
Peter came inside and shut the door behind him, tossing his shoulder bag into the corner of the room. "Yeah, my suit's in there," he said, nodding at the shoulder bag, and then stepped up to Nathan and kissed him roughly on the lips.  
  
Nathan kissed back, but grabbed Peter's hungrily roving hands and held them still, then lifted his mouth out of the kiss. "Uh, _hello_ would be polite?" he admonished.  
  
"Hi," Peter replied, gazing at Nathan in wide-eyed, shameless adoration. That look always worked on Nathan, and it worked even more so in his now-pristine, well-groomed state, because it was just so... wrong. It was like seeing Peter in costume. And now that Peter usually let his dark stubble grow for days between shaves, it had the tendency to make him look hopelessly young.  
  
Like before... like the fragile loveliness of before. Before it was okay to stare at him like this, think about him like this... thank God those days were over, but Nathan would never shake the memories.  
  
He just stared back for a long time, only languidly letting his eyes drift closed as Peter began grinding their groins together with a slow, circular motion. "You look good," Nathan said, bringing up his hand to stroke Peter's girlish-smooth cheek.  
  
"I feel like I've been peeled," Peter deflected. "No, really what it is, and I bet he was briefed by Mom before I got there, was to make me look like Junior You. Nathan 2.0."  
  
Nathan opened his eyes, and noted that Peter had indeed been given a slightly longer version of the haircut that Nathan usually got, styled with the front brushed over and up, the same side part, and everything. It was a little creepy, now that Nathan noticed it.  
  
So Nathan ran his hand through Peter's hair and made it stand on end, then smoothed it back from Peter's forehead, then riffled both hands through it, leaving it a tousled mess. "Now you don't," he said with a smile.  
  
"Thanks," Peter said, smiling back, and this time, Nathan kissed him.  
  
Peter's style had changed again somewhat in the months since their last serious kiss. He was different every time. His aggressiveness was now tempered with a certain finesse, a certain technique, his lips firming, softening, then firming again; his tongue a soft, stabbing weapon that now never went too far, just enough for Nathan to feel like they were already fucking. _God, he's good,_ Nathan thought.  
  
Peter still had plenty of his impatient, puppyish aggression, though. Clumsily, he tried to back Nathan towards the couch, but Nathan broke out of the kiss and stood his ground. "Hey—hey," he protested. "Slow down a minute. Not on my couch. You wreck furniture. Okay?... Now - here's how it is. Extra-large Coke; you knocked into me in the theater. Big spill; Coke all over both of us. We needed to wash up before dinner."  
  
Peter nodded in reply, his kiss-swollen lips bright cranberry red, his eyes heavy-lidded. As shallow as he knew it was, Nathan knew that he wouldn't find Peter nearly so irresistible if arousal didn't show on his face so beautifully. Peter was so much more beautiful right after he had been kissed—all the justification for kissing him that Nathan needed.  
  
"Good story," Peter said sulkily. "I think they'll buy it. Make sure you make it sound like it's my fault."  
  
"Get in the shower, dirty boy," Nathan said with a half-guilty smirk.  
  
Under the hot spray of water, they kissed until Peter felt light-headed. He leaned against Nathan, gasping for oxygen, as Nathan continued kissing down Peter's neck, Nathan's hands stroking and kneading Peter's buttocks. Moving slowly, as if he truly was under water, Peter reached between them and ran his hand along Nathan's hardening length, his dark eyes watching the hand stroke gently back and forth.  
  
At the moment, though, Nathan didn't feel like being petted. He sank down onto his knees on the tile, the water now hitting the top of his head and shoulders, and reached up for a small bottle on the rack of shampoo and soap. "This lube is nice stuff," he said. He turned Peter away from him, so that Peter faced out of the spray while the water hit his back and trickled over the prominent, curved bubble of his ass. "I even tried it out, even if it wasn't on me; it got good reviews. And it tastes like nothing."  
  
Peter had a dozen questions all at once, but Nathan distracted him by quickly and gently slipping two lubed fingers into Peter's ass. Peter didn't tense much, though, and relaxed immediately, though he had to do some funny, shuddery things with his breathing to do so. "Good, good," Nathan murmured. "You been practicing?"  
  
"Ha... ha," Peter tried to give a sarcastic laugh. "W-w-who did you try it on?"  
  
"Some tourist I picked up in a bar and who I'll never see again. She wasn't much to look at, but she could fuck like a tiger." Nathan firmly cupped Peter's right buttock in his hand, effectively bracing Peter and keeping him still while his left fingers thrust and twisted inside.  
  
Peter struggled to put some distance between himself and his orgasm, which built more and more every time Nathan crooked his fingers, his knuckles pressing against Peter from inside. "You... shouldn't fuck tigers, Nathan... it's really dangerous."  
  
"Shut up, Peter." Nathan shook his head and chuckled. "You're not funny."  
  
"Oh, please..." Peter said, grasping the back of Nathan's head and bringing it close to his thigh, trying to twist and turn around without disrupting Nathan's fingers. Nathan looked up at Peter, reading Peter's expression, pulling his fingers out. Peter gave a short moan of annoyance at that, but took his cock in hand and moved the head against Nathan's mouth, whispering again, "Please."  
  
"Turn the water off or I'll drown," Nathan said, and opening his mouth, took Peter in.  
  
Nathan pointed the first two fingers of his right hand and slipped them into Peter, his toes curling and cock twitching as he heard Peter whisper his name, his voice fluttering a low, repetitive song.  
  
Nathan wasn't an expert at coordinating the rhythm of his mouth and both hands, and soon gave up trying to fingerfuck Peter, giving his entire concentration to sucking. It was easy to get swept up in the intensity, always seeking to build more, and Nathan was too giddy to think of self-restraint. _So good. Hold still. Trust me. I want to eat you alive, dirty, pretty boy. You're mine._  
  
"Nathan! Oh, my God, don't," Peter begged, but his the sound of his voice demanded more and harder and faster and _now_, and that was what Nathan listened to. Nathan felt like he could maintain this sweet pattern of suck and slurp, finding his pauses for breath becoming briefer and briefer until he didn't need to stop to breathe at all.  
  
To his credit, Peter held out as long as he could, which was about thirty-five seconds of rolling his eyes and muttering for mercy. When he came, he made no sound of pleasure at all, only a quiet, anxious moan, like he'd just broken an expensive lamp. The "I'm going to get it" moan. "I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry," he pleaded, even as he felt the fluid spurting out of him, into Nathan's mouth. Nathan flinched a little, but didn't move away, didn't remove his mouth, didn't turn and spit and yell at Peter for being careless and having no self-control.  
  
Instead Nathan just swallowed, and closed his eyes, and sat there silently, thinking about it.  
  
"I'm really sorry; you know how that goes. I tried to warn you," Peter said.  
  
"It's okay," Nathan said, opening his eyes and smiling up to Peter, then glancing over at Peter's still fully-hard cock, right at his eye level. "It's okay," he repeated, taking Peter into his mouth again.  
  
Peter drew in his breath; the touch of Nathan's mouth on his hypersensitive dick was something like agony, only without anything negative about it. It became even less negative as Nathan ran his hands up Peter's thighs, front and back, stroked and cupped Peter's balls, used his finger to test the suppleness of Peter's asshole. Peter bucked as he came again, feeling the head of his cock push against Nathan's palate, and again Nathan flinched a little at the come in his mouth, but as he moved his head to accomodate the angle of Peter's cock, he calmly swallowed the issue, even humming a little with pleasure.  
  
Peter could hardly see straight. "Nathan, my God, you don't have to do this," he said, half-laughing.  
  
"I know. I want to. I like it. You taste good."  
  
"Seriously?" Peter asked, but immediately lost his train of thought as he felt Nathan's mouth covering him again. Now it almost did hurt, at first, as Nathan relentlessly pumped Peter up to maximum hardness again, and slid his fingers back into Peter to caress him inside, to work the spunk out of him. Peter held out longer this time, watching with amazement as Nathan flawlessly mastered the art of cocksucking, like he'd been born to it.  
  
This orgasm did hurt a little, but it also felt good in a twisted way, like licking a 9-volt battery; Peter gave a long, drawn-out cry, and nearly lost his footing on the shower floor. "Enough, enough. I can't come anymore, okay?" he said.  
  
Nathan looked disappointed. "Oh, well," he replied. "We'll see."  
  
Peter shakily exited the shower stall, groping for a towel. Nathan followed close, seized Peter around the waist, and licked the edge of Peter's ear. Peter turned to receive a kiss, but Nathan didn't have one to give; instead he used his leverage to wreck Peter's sense of balance, and when Peter tried to grab for Nathan to steady himself, Nathan slid Peter onto the floor instead, face down, underneath him.  
  
Peter laughed recklessly. "Fucking tigers! You're crazy!" he said.  
  
"_You're_ crazy." Nathan reached over to where he had set the lube bottle on the ground against the edge of the shower stall, slicked up, and, holding Peter down by one hand on his upper back, rubbed and slid and forced and slipped inside.  
  
Peter arched up as far as he could, pressing against Nathan's hand until Nathan took the restraining hand away, only to take hold of Peter's hips and thrust Peter against him. Peter screamed a little, but he laughed at the same time. "Evil! Evil! Uh! You evil, nasty... tiger-fucking lawyer."  
  
"God... are you off your meds or something?"  
  
"Ow." Peter suddenly got a cramp in his stomach, which transferred itself to his left thigh and left arm, which were bearing most of his weight (and some of Nathan's, too), and slightly twisted, to boot. He shook out his arm, but the thigh cramp only got worse. "Ow... okay, okay, wait a minute. Yellow flag. Uncle."  
  
Nathan stopped, and acknowledged the stiffening of his own muscles with a grimace. "Yeah, this isn't the best place for this," he agreed, pulling out, rocking back onto the balls of his feet.  
  
Peter turned over, relaxing onto his back on the damp, fluffy bathroom rug. "I understand... sometimes you just can't wait."  
  
Nathan and Peter gazed at each other for a while. "I can't believe it's been more than a month since I last fucked you," Nathan said wonderingly.  
  
Peter quirked a little smile. "Yeah," he replied, then his smile growing larger, "you were fucking tigers."  
  
"You're really not funny, Peter," Nathan deadpanned, shaking his head.  
  
Peter shut his eyes and smiled. "Teach me your ways of funny, oh, great Socrates. Show me how to knock 'em dead and have no idea that I was being hilarious. You are your own straight man, Nathan Petrelli." Peter opened his eyes, and arched his eyebrow. "Straight?" he added, dubiously.  
  
"For all intents and purposes." Nathan stood up, offering Peter a hand up.  
  
Peter took it, allowing himself to be led into the bedroom. "I feel special."  
  
"You should," Nathan said, then, watching Peter sinking down onto his bed, eyes wide, legs parted, lips bright, and hair a shaggy damp mess, forgot what he had been going to say. "You are special. You..." Nathan shook his head a little. "I love you so much."  
  
"Come here; show me," Peter murmured.  
  
Nathan sat beside Peter, then lay back, his knees bent over the edge of the bed, and taking Peter by the waist again, maneuvered Peter on top, sitting up, his legs spread, his back to Nathan. Nathan's cock rose up from between Peter's legs, nestling close to Peter's, and Peter realized with a smile that he could masturbate both at the same time with very little effort. It felt so good, it was almost better than fucking, but, much like trying to do it on the bathroom rug, impossible to do for very long because it was just plain uncomfortable after a while. "See, this is why I don't fuck guys," Peter complained, rising up again, letting Nathan penetrate him with fingers again, followed by the hard, hot knob of Nathan's cockhead, sliding in and in. "Oh—"  
  
"So _why_ don't you fuck guys?" Nathan whispered with a sleepwalker's slowness. Inside Peter, his cock twitched hard.  
  
"Oh—! Because... oh my God, it wouldn't be the same. _Your_ dick, your dick _knows_ me. Your dick... can read my mind. And," Peter scowled suddenly, trying to keep himself from laughing. "I'm not _on meds_, tiger-fucker."  
  
Nathan arched up off the bed, holding Peter down. "You should be."  
  
He had finally shut Peter up; the boy was beyond all but the most abstract howls and muttered obscenities. Still, he had enough control over himself to actually direct things, to drive himself, to find his own limits.  
  
Nathan was simply willing to show Peter that they might not be where he thought they were.  
  
Nathan wondered what his own limits were, and thought of how they just kept falling away whenever he was doing this with Peter.  
  
_This_, for God's sake, _this_. Nathan swore to himself that he wanted it to stop, and sometimes he even believed it. But it was a lie. He knew the truth; Peter knew the truth. Peter had always known. And somehow, Peter never needed to lie to himself; therefore, Peter was crazy. But _this._  
  
Right now, Nathan truly felt alive.  
  
He rose up, holding Peter steady again, and slammed up into him four times, five times, feeling that orgasm taking control of him, making him fuck too hard. If it was anyone but Peter, Nathan wouldn't have let it happen—no one else could be trusted to take this. Not that Peter was, either; Peter didn't really know anything.  
  
Too young. Sweet, dirty, pretty, crazy boy. Nathan was supposed to protect him, not...  
  
"Fuck me! Oh my God, Nathan, fuck me, c'mon! Come inside me, come inside me, please. Come inside me—there—yes."  
  
Nathan fell back, giving a deeply satisfied, fulfilled sigh, and Peter followed him down, never letting them lose that slippery, soaked connection, moaning almost as loud and long as though he had been the one to come.  
  
"God, I live to see you come... watch you, feel you," Peter mumbled, still trying to fuck. "I need you so much. I'm... always, and totally, and forever, your sex slave." Peter couldn't help snickering a little as he said it. "Remember?"  
  
Nathan sighed, wishing that fucking Peter into silence was more permanent. "I remember," he sighed, moving Peter aside, pulling out, keeping his eyes closed. He was tired and blissed, but more than anything, he just couldn't look at Peter right now with so many feelings happening all at once. In a few seconds, Nathan would be all right again, but not now. "Go get cleaned up," he commanded gruffly. He opened his eyes to see Peter's peeved expression as he stood up and walked back into the bathroom.  
  
Nathan lay there and put his feelings back into their appropriate boxes.  
  
When Peter returned a few minutes later, he crawled onto the bed beside Nathan, and clung to Nathan's side, knees up on Nathan's thigh and arms around Nathan's torso. It was the same pose he always returned to, his dick against the dip in Nathan's waist, just above the hip with the bad shrapnel scar. Peter traced the scar with his fingers, stroked the others, too, as many as he could reach. "Can I ask you something?" Peter said.  
  
"Mmm-hm."  
  
"Can I fuck you?"  
  
Nathan opened his eyes and looked at Peter. Peter looked all feverish again, biting his lip, his pushed-forward hair shadowing his eyes. "Have you ever given anal?" Nathan asked tentatively.  
  
"No," Peter admitted, tracing from scars to nipples, down to Nathan's soft cock, pausing there, stroking the moist, sensitive skin. Nathan frowned, feeling a tug inside him, at the hidden root of his cock, beginning, impossibly, to respond again. "But I've fucked plenty of times."  
  
Nathan put his hand over Peter's, trying to halt the pressure of Peter's fingers. "Then, no. You can't."  
  
Peter clicked his tongue. "What? Oh, come on."  
  
"You do understand that it's completely different, right?"  
  
"Of course I do. I wouldn't fuck a pussy the way you fuck me. It's dangerous." Peter slid his hand out of the way, then put it on top of Nathan's, pressing Nathan's own hand down onto his cock, making Nathan grab himself. "Tiger-fucking dangerous."  
  
"Peter..." Nathan warned.  
  
"I know, I know, I know." Peter sighed. "Could I just..." He slid his hand underneath Nathan, and traced the cleft of his ass. "...Slide against you right here? I need to get off. And you sucked enough out of me already today."  
  
Without both of their hands to hold it down, Nathan's cock began to rise, and Peter stared at it a moment, then met Nathan's eyes. Nathan shrugged, sighed, smiled. "Okay. I'm amazed that you'd even want to get off again."  
  
"Yeah, me too. It's a record, I think."  
  
Nathan rolled partially over onto his side, one arm out over the bed, one leg raised and bent toward his chest. "It's not," he said distractedly. "Saturday in Vermont, you came nine, ten times, easy."  
  
"Yeah, but not in a row." Peter settled down beside him, fitting his slippery shaft between Nathan's buttocks, and letting his breath guide his hips back and forth. "Not... one after another. Not you just... not stopping. When I'm begging you to stop. You're so mean to me sometimes."  
  
This was almost as good as fucking, too.  
  
Nathan rolled over more, giving Peter more room to move, grasping Peter's hand and holding it lightly between his fingers, stroking Peter's palm.  
  
Peter decided that he would interpret that. He applied lube to his fingers, and slid them where his cock had been, then running them slickly over Nathan's hole. Nathan sighed faintly, almost impatiently, and Peter interpreted that, too, forcing his finger inside.  
  
It was easier than Peter would have guessed, and Nathan groaned softly, brokenly. It was a familiar sound; Peter remembered it from the first time he had touched Nathan's cock and found it hard, from the first time Nathan watched Peter jack off, the first time Nathan fucked him. "Have you ever had it before?" Peter whispered, pushing his fingers in as deep as they would go, then pulling them out completely, resuming the not-so-dry hump of Nathan's backside.  
  
For a moment, Nathan was silent, then he said, "Yeah."  
  
Peter froze. "You have?"  
  
"Yeah."  
  
"When?"  
  
"Don't stop." Nathan said nothing until Peter resumed sliding again, his rhythm now jagged and unsteady. "A bunch of times."  
  
"The first time," Peter demanded, sticking his finger back inside Nathan. "When was that?"  
  
"In school. At the Academy. He was... older. A senior; senior officer." Nathan's breathing had become ragged. "He took a shine to me because... I was gifted. He took me under his... his wing, groomed me to be his successor. And I did. And I was. We had a lot of privilege; we had a... a lot time alone together. Comparatively."  
  
"Did you love him?" Peter whispered.  
  
"Oh, God, no," Nathan said. "He was a rival. He was competition. He was in my way."  
  
"But you let him fuck you?"  
  
"I was really horny, Peter. We were both... really horny. We got time alone on purpose. That's what privilege is in military school; time alone. Take care of what needs to be taken care of."  
  
"Oh yeah?" Peter said, and his cock followed where his finger had been. Nathan didn't protest; instead his breath hitched for a moment, then went slower and deeper, carefully relaxing himself. Even so, he was tighter than Peter could possibly have imagined, tighter and hotter and different and amazing. Peter gave a helpless succession of moans. "Jesus... God. Oh, God, how. How... how old were you?"  
  
"Just be still, Peter... don't move. Learn how it feels. Learn the..."  
  
"How old were you?" Peter whispered.  
  
"Fourteen," Nathan replied, under his breath.  
  
"So..." Peter slid backward, pulled out, pushed his finger back in, applied more lube. "All the stuff you wouldn't let me do?"  
  
"There was a good reason why not. I know, okay? I did all of 'em."  
  
"Oh... this is so unfair," Peter said, vexed, and pushed his cock back into the volcanic heat. He stroked his hand down Nathan's back, tracing the scars there with his fingertips. "Did he... hurt you?"  
  
"Yeah. A little bit."  
  
"Did you like it?"  
  
"Yes, I did. Of course I did. It was sex. And social success; undreamed-of social power."  
  
"Did you like cock, though, Nathan." Peter punctuated each word with a slight thrusting motion of his hips, enough to make Nathan faintly cry out with each one.  
  
"It's nothing like you," Nathan replied, his voice raised and desperate, ragged with lust. "I liked the way his cock made me feel. I didn't care about how he felt. It's _nothing_ like you. You make me fucking crazy. Do you know how long I've wanted you? Do you know how hard it was, saying no to you? Knowing how you must have been feeling? And knowing that I just couldn't do it, and... it's so hard to be around you sometimes, Peter..."  
  
He ran out of words as his orgasm reared up like a tidal wave and came crashing down onto him, catching Peter in its wake, too, the boy's cock twitching sharply inside Nathan, and Peter's moans growing longer, louder, almost singing again. "Does it hurt?" Peter wanted to know. "Does it hurt? Does this remind you?"  
  
"No, it's just you. It's only ever you."  
  
Nathan relaxed, feeling Peter withdraw, and collapse beside him. "That is really something else," Peter said. "Did I do okay?"  
  
Nathan stroked the sweat on Peter's belly. "Not bad. You have a lot to learn, still."  
  
"I obviously need practice," Peter said.  
  
"Go get practice," Nathan said. "Just don't practice on me. If you're going to do that again..." He poked Peter in the navel, making Peter squirm and giggle. "You become a cockmaster skilled in the art. I've had enough bad sodomy to last a lifetime."  
  
"Only the best sodomy for our Nathan," Peter agreed.  
  
"If I ever hear of you fucking some other dude, though, I'll kill both him and you. Don't fuck other guys. Chicks, I don't care about. But don't fuck other guys."  
  
"But women's bodies are built differently. I know that much. Every asshole is different, like a fingerprint. So I really _do_ have to practice on you, then, Nathan. You understand my dilemma, don't you?"  
  
Nathan couldn't help smiling. "Do you even know what 'dilemma' means?"  
  
"I'm not _fourteen_," Peter challenged back.  
  
The barb was enough to yank Nathan back to seriousness. "Oh, shit, what time is it?" He glanced over at his clock radio, which read 20:38. "We gotta get back... we're supposed to be home for dinner at nine! Your mother is going to kill you if you're late. After she's finished killing me."  
  
"_Your_ mother. Hmph. She'd never kill you, Nathan... you're her shining star."  
  
"And you're her baby," Nathan pointed out, examining Peter critically. "And she'd still kill you. Get your suit on—I've got to make sure your hair looks right. And you probably still can't knot a tie worth a damn."  
  
"Straight?" Peter asked again dubiously, pointing at Nathan.  
  
Nathan rolled his eyes. "C'mon, Pete. And remember—'I see dead people.'"  
  
Peter's whole face lit up. "'Walking around, just like regular people,'" he quoted back. "'They don't know they're dead.'"  
  
"Good lad."  
  
Peter paused with his shirt half on, and pointed at Nathan again. "Straight?"  
  
Nathan gave Peter a huge, toothy smile. "Yes, Peter, I'm straight." Unfortunately, wrecking this declaration was the fact that when Nathan was relaxed and comfortable, he had just the faintest lisp. It ruined the effect completely.  
  
"Okay, if you say so, Miz Nathan," Peter replied dubiously.  
  
Nathan sighed and shook his head. "I think I might just have to kill you myself, after all, and save Ma the trouble."  
  
"Tiger-fucker," Peter muttered, and ducked the pillow missile Nathan launched from the other side of the bed.

**Author's Note:**

> [original closing note] Dialogue from THE SIXTH SENSE copyright 1999 M. Night Shyamalan. Dare I say, I prefer UNBREAKABLE... :)
> 
> Ritual Reader's Guide: [to come]


End file.
